


Ill-Gotten Gains

by Thyme_Basalt



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Flu, Fluff, Hog has the flu, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rat tries to take care of him, Robbery, Sexual References, Sick Character, but he's objectively bad at that sort of thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 20:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13197525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyme_Basalt/pseuds/Thyme_Basalt
Summary: Junkrat learns firsthand how hard it can be to care for a sick Hog.





	Ill-Gotten Gains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelicYourd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicYourd/gifts).



> Gift for angelicYourd for the Roadrat Riders Secret Santa! Requested hurt/comfort, it got a little fluffy along the way, hope you don't mind!

It begins with a cough. Roadie’s coughs are usually wet, rattly and awful, but this one is worse. It sustains, it steals his breath away. No amount of Hogdrogen can fully give him his breath back. The duo has no choice but to slow their trail of destruction across the continental United States. They’ve been using a van to cart themselves around the vast expanses of the American West, and it becomes Operation Cure Hog HQ. Three dozen blankets and pillows are piled into the back of the van and Junkrat insists Roadhog lay down while he goes over his symptoms.

“Okay,” Rat’s holding his tablet, tapping on the screen like a practicing doctor. “Coughing?”

A grunt, followed by a cough. Hog’s taken off his mask, a snotty nose pressed against chafing leather is the most unpleasant sensation. His scarred cheeks are flushed, eyes watery.

“Runny nose?”

Hog gives a wet sniff.

“Fever?” Rat reaches out his metal hand to Hog’s forehead before switching to this flesh hand with a giggle.

“Mmm,” Hog groans. “Metal one feels good.”

“Feels like a fever,” Rat says, typing it into his tablet and switching his hand back so the metal one is touching Hog cheek. The bigger man grumbles appreciatively, pressing his cheek against the cool comfort.

“Trouble breathing?”

“The fuck do you think, Rat?”

Rat rolls his eyes. “Agitation, yes. Constipation? Nah, ya took a really stanky shit this mornin’.”

Hog chuckles at the memory, breaking off into a wheeze.

“Try not to laugh, mate, I know it’s hard when yer with someone who’s a nonstop riot like ol’ Rat. How ‘bout bloatin’? Ya feel bloated? Ya always look bloated, so I can’t tell.”

Hog’s fingers clamp down on Rat’s knee, giving it a painful pinch.

“Alright, alright, geez. Okay, million dollar question, ya feel nauseous? Like yer gonna puke in our beautiful love nest?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Okay…” Rat says cautiously, tapping it onto the screen. “But if ya do, jus’ roll yerself out the back and do it outside. I ain’t cleanin’ that shit up. Same thing goes with shit comin’ out the other end.”

Hog snorts and takes Junkrat’s hand, transferring it to cool down the other side of his face.

“Right, that’s gotta be enough symptoms.” Rat presses enter, vibrating with intensity as he waits for the results. A loud gasp jolts Hog’s attention up as Rat surveys the list of maladies that could be afflicting his beloved pig.

“CANCER!? Roadie you have cancer?” He drops the tablet, grasping Hog’s face in his hands and getting entirely too close, tears welling in his orange eyes. “Why didn’t ya tell me, mate? Ya didn’t trust me? Didn’t think I could deal with it?” Rat rips his head back, fist covering his mouth. “Oh no, Roadie. What am I gonna do without ya? What am I gonna do?”

At first, Hog thinks this was one of Rat’s purposefully over-the-top goofy routines, but as he watches Rat fold over on himself, clutching his stomach, he realizes it’s genuine.

“I don’t have cancer,” Hog says plucking up the tablet and looking at the screen. He feels the slightest bit uncertain saying that for sure, given his history, age and exposure to radiation, but cancer isn’t what is causing this. “Cancer is the 15th thing on this list. It’s probably #1- flu.”

Rat uncurls himself and takes the tablet back. “Oh… oh I get it. The top one is the most likely… I thought these were all the things you had.”

Hog shakes his head, a little amused, a little touched by Rat’s heartfelt reaction. Sheepishly, Rat wipes the back of his nose with his hand and tries to refocus on Roadhog being sick.

“So, uh… flu. Not as deadly…” His eyes dart back and forth and his voice wavers.

“Come ‘ere,” Roadhog says, pulling Rat over by his wrist. Normally, he would pick Junkrat up in his arms, smothering him in soft fat and strong muscles until he calmed down. Not the greatest idea when he has the flu, so he wraps Junkrat in a protective layer of blankets before hauling him against his warmth. Junkrat hums fondly, hands pressing through the blankets against Hog’s chest.

“So… have ya ever had the flu?” Rat says, voice muffled.

“Yes.”

“Did ya have someone to take care of ya?”

“A couple times… mostly not.”

“This time ya will,” Rat’s blond hair and bright eyes pop out the top of the blanket bundle and he smiles up at Hog. “Tell me whatcha need.”

“Pharmacy,” Hog says, motioning with his chin for Rat to head back up to the driver’s seat.

***

One frantic drive across town ensues, Roadhog fighting through his sore throat to shout directions to his partner behind the wheel. They find a pharmacy with an inane jumble of letters for a name and a bright red sign. Before he runs into the store, Rat asks Hog a couple dozen times if he wants him to tuck him in. Each time he’s met with a grunt until Hog hurls an empty soda can at him to make him get out and go.

Immediately approaching the counter, Rat's fingers drum impatiently as he squints at the special booty they keep locked up behind the register: cigarettes, condoms, cheap electronics, some select medicines.

“Four boxes of cold medicine,” he barks at the teenager stocking the register.

“Daytime or nighttime?” The clerk asks nervously, trying to make eye contact with other patrons who seem to be steadily streaming out the door, some running.

“Wha’s the difference?” Junkrat asks, craning his neck to see what else is being kept out of his reach.

“One will help you sleep if you’re sick, the other will keep you awake.”

“Both yes. Four boxes each.”

“Can I see some ID?”

“Some ID?” Rat tenses. “Th’ fuck ya need ID for?”

“You have to be 18 to buy the cold medicine. People use it to make drugs and stuff.” This kid is well out of his comfort zone with this interaction.

“The fuck kinda fascist society are we in that I can’t buy cold medicine for my sick mate without bein’ grilled about what I’m using it for?” A clunk rattles through the store as Junkrat threateningly hefts his grenade launcher onto the counter where he can see it. Now the clerk understands why patrons have been hightailing it out of the store.

“Okay, man,” he says, hands slowly raising. “I understand you. You get the cold medicine. What else do you need for your sick friend?”

“Hmm,” Junkrat considers the possibilities. “What else ya hidin’ back here? Condoms, yes gimme those. The biggest. Nah, I like barebackin’ it. Wait, can yer dick make someone sick?”

The clerk blinks, unsure of how to process the question.

“Uhhh… yeah, you can get STDs or make someone pregnant, I guess that’s a form of sick.”

Junkrat’s mouth drops. “Fuck! What if he’s pregnant? That didn’t even come up on my web search!”

“Can your friend get pregnant?” The clerk is trying not to laugh, despite being currently robbed.

“Oh thank god, yer right. I totally forgot, he does have a dick.” Rat bites his lip, considering his options. “Gimme the pregnancy test anyway, ten boxes of tissues and twenty cans of soup and you’ve got yerself a deal.”

“A deal?” The kid says with a wavering voice, dropping cold medicine, cigarettes, everything he can grab into a plastic bag. “So you’re not gonna rob us?”

“Oh yeah,” Rat shoots a finger gun at him. “Cash too, thanks for the reminder.”

***

Junkrat makes a speedy getaway, waddling back into the van with a dozen plastic bags looped over his arms.

“Got the goods, Roadie!” He yells, tilting his head back as he speeds out of the parking lot. “Get me Hog all fixed up.”

They find a place down by a waterway. It's graffitied, polluted, trash and old needles littering the ground under the bridge where they spend the night. No one will find them here. He can take care of Hog in peace.

The tablet rarely leaves Junkrat's hands; he references it constantly while he tries to learn how to care for Hog.

“Alright, big pig, sit up.” He helps Hog up by tugging on his arm. A yellow liquid is thrust into his hand along with a palmful of little red pills.

“These will help. The yellow stuff is to replenish… yer… cells that make ya pee. And peeing is good when yer sick. And it should be clear.” Rat says a little unsure as all the information he’s read about the flu becomes one giant mess in his brain.

Hog downs the sports drink and tosses back the pills, turning expectantly to his caretaker.

“Okay,” Rat reaches into his plastic bag and plucks out a small bottle with a nozzle on top. “For yer piggy nose. Help clear out all that snot.”

Before Hog can protest, the tip of the bottle is heading straight for one of his nostrils. He bats it away right as Junkrat presses down on the plastic bit to spray up into his nose.

“Can you let me do that myself?” Hog tries to pull it from Rat’s iron grasp, but he won’t let up. “You’re going to fuck me up with it.”

Rat sits back on his heels, downtrodden. “Just wanted to take care of ya. But go ahead, make me feel useless.” Rat tosses the bottle into Hog’s outstretched hand and crosses his arms.

Despite his initial feelings of rejection when Hog wouldn’t let him do it, Rat is enraptured watching the way Hog’s massive figures so carefully spray the decongestant up into his nose. Hog can do so much with his hands. You’d think he’d be clumsy with how big they are, but he can screw in the tiniest screw on Rat’s arm with those fingers, move them in just the right way down the lines on his body-

“Why are you staring?” Hog asks, putting the spray down and rubbing his nose with the back of his arm.

“Not starin’,” Rat reassures him. “Admirin’.”

“Never had someone admire me while I spray shit up my nose,” Hog shakes his head. “But there’s always something new with you, Rat.”

“Maybe ya’ve never had someone who admires ya enough.” Rat says with a cheeky grin.

The moment hangs between them and Hog closes his eyes, comforted by Junkrat’s presence and his unerring affection. Suddenly, Hog feels the air in front of him grow warm and he opens his eyes just in time to see Junkrat about to plant a kiss on his lips.

“What are you doing?” Hog yells, rolling to the side to keep his face away, upsetting his lungs into another bout of coughing.

“Kissin’ ya, the fuck do ya think?”

“You’ve been reading those websites about how to care for someone with the flu?” Roadhog asks, planting a hand on Junkrat’s chest to keep him at bay. “Don’t all of them talk about how contagious it is?”

Rat nods. “1 day before symptoms show up, 5-7 days after.”

“Then why the fuck are you kissing me?”

“Thought it would make you feel better!”

“It would make me feel better if you didn’t.”

As soon as Hog says it, Rat’s face falls.

“I’ll just… go over there then.” Dragging the tablet along with him, he retreats, propping himself up against the back of the driver’s seat. He just wants to take care of his Hoggy, Rat’s brain starts cycling through what he read, if he messed up, what else he should do for Hog, if he said something wrong, if he did something wrong. His shaking returns and he presses his head against his knees, trying to steady himself.

“Rat,” he hears Hog’s voice from across the world. It pulls him out of his destructive mental loops.

“Yeah?” He turns his head to look over at the massive pile of blankets on top of his Hog.

“I didn’t mean for you to leave,” Hog says gruffly. He’s trying to reach out an olive branch. “Could you help me get comfortable?”

“Typical Hoggy, only apologizin’ when he wants something, I see how it is. Yer lucky I’m weak for ya.” Rat leaps up in a single bound and hobbles over to him. “First thing- make sure yer child has a pillow under his head.” Junkrat takes the back of Hog’s head, lifting it up to plump the pillow.

“Child?”

“Yeah, you were actin’ like a baby earlier, so I looked up some ways to deal with a sick child.”

Hog rolls his eyes as Rat lays his head back down.

“Next ya ask how the child is feelin’. Too hot? Too cold?”

“Cold,” Hog answers, but he groans in relief as Rat presses the metal hand to his forehead again.

“Yer burnin’ up too. Let’s do three blankets.” Rat casts all the others to the side and one-by-one, he tucks each one under Hog’s sides.

Hog’s never felt so secure, in the back of a beaten-up van, down by a shitty river frequented by drug users. Warm eyes, comforting hands unafraid, devoted attention solely on him. Rat can be intense sometimes, off-puttingly so. But not now. Hog feels himself calmed by Rat and his attempts at caring for him. He closes his eyes and lets his partner do his work.

“What else does a sick Hoggo need?” Rat ponders aloud before the light bulb goes off in his brain, visible across his open face. “Soup!”

With a snap of his finger, Rat’s holding a lit match to the bottom of a tin can. The smell of melting metal slowly fills the car and Hog cracks an eyelid open.

“Rat.”

“Yes, love?”

“Not safe.”

“Oh stuff it, how else am I supposed to do it?”

“Give it here,” Hog holds out a hand. Rat’s reluctant, not wanting Roadie to strain himself, but he hands it over.

Clasping it between his massive fingers, Hog twists it, easily busting a hole in the metal. He lifts it up to his lips, drinking the drippy noodles and broth straight from the can in a single gulp.

“I was gonna heat that up,” Rat scolds him, snatching up the can and tossing it out the window. He lingers near Hog, not sure “Is there anything else I can do? Maybe the melody of my voice would put ya to sleep?”

He can see hog struggling with the decision before he gives a curt nod.

Rat just… talks. Talks about what they’ve done, what they’re going to do, the people he saw at the pharmacy, the clerk who asked him for ID, why the hell he would need an ID to buy things, the weird dog that barked at him, other weird dogs he’d like to see, places he’d like to visit, how he’d get there, what kind of coffee he had, what kind of coffee he wants. He goes on and on until he feels Hog slip into a tentative slumber. As soon as he feels Hog’s breathing rumble into a calm, he shuts up and lays beside him, unable to shut his eyes.

***

As much as Rat may have doted on him, as much as he thinks he followed the online instructions, Hog takes a turn for the worse overnight. Rat knows something’s very wrong when he hears him stirring but he does not call out. Cautiously, Rat crawls across the back of the van, holding up the tablet and casting its dull blue light into the darkness. With the pile of blankets kicked off him, Roadhog writhes, his skin pallid and sticky. His breaths come in short and ragged. It’s terrifying, seeing his bodyguard lying helplessly like this. Wounds are almost easier, at least Rat is be able to see it, stitch him up or plug Hogdrogen into his mask and push out the superficial wounds.

“Hey, Hog?” Rat says cautiously, trying to make his grating voice as soothing as possible. “You alright?”

His partner jerks his attention towards him, like the sound of his voice brought him back down to the painful earth but eyelids only flutter and he can’t seem to focus on Junkrat. Carefully Rat reaches out his flesh hand to Hog’s forehead, then winces as he feels the hot skin boiling beneath his fingers.

“Had this under control,” he mutters under his breath, sifting through plastic bags to find bottled water. “Thought ya were gonna be okay.” His shaking hands struggle to unscrew the top, spilling water on himself as he does.

Hog groans, words almost forming as if he’s trying to say something.

“Drink up,” Rat says, cradling his head and lifting the bottle to his thick lips. Hog drinks down as much as Rat gives him before dropping his head back.

The blue light of the tablet illuminates their little corner of the van, Rat’s face growing more and more panicked as he reads the articles he’s pulled up about severe symptoms. No more. He shuts down the tablet, sending them both into darkness. It takes a few moments for eyes to adjust to the darkness, but the sliver of moonlight through the window provides some respite.

Rat’s silent, doesn’t speak a word. He needs to hear him. Every heaved breath Hog takes, every sneeze or groan, Rat’s beside him, trying his best to comfort with cool hands and fixed attention. He only gets like this in the deepest level of concentration, when he knows everything is on the line, when a stray wire or missed detail can mean death.

 _Consult a doctor, go to the emergency room, get immediate medical care._ He sees the words over and over and over again in his head and hates himself for ignoring them. He’s sure Hog’s in that temperature range, the range he should be hightailing it out of their little hideaway and to the nearest sterile building with bright red and blue lights flashing outside. He’s being selfish, he knows it. But if he does that, he knows he’s failed him, he’s failed Roadhog, failed them both. If he can’t will Hog to feel better, stop writhing, breath normally, what good is he?

He’s no good, he knows it, curling up next to Hog. He’s run through all the steps and he knows there’s nothing else he can do for Hog but hope he pushes through it. Hog tenses for a moment at his presence but he recognizes the feeling of the pointy body and the cool of his metal bits. Rat smiles as he feels warm hand nestle against his back, another tucked against his hip, clinging on for comfort. If that’s all Rat can do, just be here, he’ll do it. He can be here for Hog, quiet and afraid, but here.

***

In the late morning, Hog’s fever breaks. He sleeps peacefully after that, no more tossing, no more panting, minimal sweating. Rat collapses beside him, exhaustion finally letting him rest.

***

The Rocky Mountains are ghosts in their rearview mirror as they speed down the expanse of open highway. It’s been a few days since the worst of their ordeal. Hog sits in the passenger’s seat with a blanket tucked over his lap and a paperback book in his comically large hands. He steals glances every couple of minutes over at his partner, who’s singing tunelessly along with the radio like he knows the words to any of the songs.

“I just can’t believe you didn’t get sick,” Hog says finally, a slight smile on his voice.

“Mate, I’ve got an iron immune system.” Rat pats his stomach. “Ain’t nothin’ comin’ down here without me shittin’ it out as pure energy.”

Hog gives a disbelieving grunt.

“Oh yeah? Ya know what else doesn’t make sense? A 500 lb man becomin’ a needy baby when he gets a little sick in his tum tum.”

“I was legitimately sick,” Roadhog rests his head against the window. “You were worried.”

“Nah,” Rat waves him off. “Not for a second. Thought ya were jus’ pullin’ on me heartstrings for some attention.” Metal hand squeezes on Roadhog’s thigh. “There are other ways to get my attention ya know.”

“Sure.” Hog takes the hand in his.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rat can see Hog fiddling with something in his empty hand.

“Whatcha got there?”

“Found this in the pharmacy bag.” Hog flips the bright pink pregnancy test in his hand. “You trying to tell me something?”

“Nah mate, I was just askin’ the bloke behind the counter if my dick could make someone sick. He said maybe you were pregnant and it couldn’t hurt to check.”

“He said that?” Hog asks, flipping the box around in his hands.

“Somethin’ like that. Or maybe I said that?” Rat shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Consider it a souvenir for Hoggy’s First Flu.”

“Wasn’t my first flu.”

“Hoggy’s Last Flu.”

“Probably won’t be my last, unless you’re planning on killing me.”

“Fine then,” Rat says with a pout. “What do you want to call it?”

“Hog’s First Flu with Rat.”

That seems to satisfy Rat and he picks up a half-empty water bottle in a toast.

“To many more!”

“To many more.” Hog chuckles and taps the bottle with his pregnancy test.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me about Roadrat on Tumblr! [Thyme-Basalt](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also come hang with awesome fic writers, artists and Roadrat fans on Squeakster's Roadrat Rider's Discord (18+). [Click here for the invite link, we have a good time!](https://discord.gg/qME6VFK)


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